


Bruised Ego

by Lacy_Star



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Bruises, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Minor Injuries, Other, Vomiting, multiple ouchies actually, post pof, roman has an ouchie, royality that can be taken platonically or romantically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25297627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacy_Star/pseuds/Lacy_Star
Summary: After the events of Putting Others First, Roman's ego was quite bruised.Of course, being the embodiment of actual ego, one can imagine just how painful that might be.--AKA: Roman is hurt and Patton comes to his aid.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 119





	Bruised Ego

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Heed the tags. There's not any real gore, but there are descriptions of injury and vomiting. If there are tags you think I should add, let me know.
> 
> Also, this fic was inspired by [this art](https://caffeinated-cryptid.tumblr.com/post/623402436261986304/sucks-to-bruise-so-easily) by [caffeinated-cryptid](https://caffeinated-cryptid.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. Show them some love!

The moment Roman made it back to his room, his knees buckled from the pure force of Janus’ words. He caught himself on his elbows so he didn’t totally faceplant, but he was sure he heard some sort of crack on the way down. His eye felt too painful and uncomfortable to open, almost itchy as if something had gotten stuck in it, and from his brow to his cheekbone there was an unbearable burn. That was the first thing that registered-- his eye. He raised a shaky hand to cup at it and opened his good eye, only to feel tears glide off of his heavy eyelashes and fall onto the cobblestone floor.

He hurt so badly that the cold floor was looking fairly tempting as a bed, but he knew that a lack of proactiveness would just result in more injury. This was a familiar experience to him, if not an unpleasant one. The force of it had simply been a surprise this time. But surely it wouldn’t be _so_ bad, once he got a look at it.

Using the leftover remnants of his fury as his aid, he forced himself up onto his knees, only to crumple inward as if a blow had been delivered straight to his stomach. That one would be a pain to wake up to in the morning, he thought to himself as he hissed through his gritted teeth.

He brought down the hand cradling his hurt eye to wipe at his other one so he could better see without tear-clogged vision. His vanity wasn’t far, just a few paces to the left against the wall next to a tapestry embroidered with his symbol.

Giving himself to the count of three, he got to his left foot with a groan. However once he tried to get to the other, he veered left as it felt like a blow was being delivered to his right knee. He stumbled, careening into the wall and only just catching himself on the tapestry to keep himself upright. His side hit the wall hard and flames shot up his ribs, and when he opened his mouth to whimper he could taste blood.

Both of his hands clutched at the fabric on the wall as he tried to physically upright himself. His fingers dug into the soft linen, and he truly hoped he wasn’t getting any blood onto the material, as it had taken a while to make. His feet were slipping again so he gave himself one more pull upward only to hear the fabric rip from how hard he was pulling on it, and he dully supposed it really didn’t matter whether it got messy or not then.

Even so, it provided enough support for him to upright himself. The vanity wasn’t far now. If he could push himself off of the wall and catch himself on the edge of the table, he would be able to get himself in the chair. At least, that’s what he hoped.

There was blood on his chin starting to cool and he could smell iron clogging up his nose, offensive and abrasive. Some more tears spilled down from his good eye. He had to hurry.

“Okay,” He whispered to himself in a mantra, each word coming out a wheeze, “Okay… okay…”

Giving a push, he fell away from the wall and careened forward and to the right, his legs slow to follow him. He braced his forearms in front of himself, and was filled with relief and spikes of pain when they hit the table of the vanity. Success. Once he’d wriggled more of his chest onto the desk, he shakily grabbed for the top rail of the accompanying chair and pulled it out as far as he could. An almost crawl around the edge of the desk later, he let himself fall back into the seat with a loud sigh, his entire body relaxing and his head lolling backwards to stare up at the ceiling. He felt as if he’d walked up an entire mountain and then dropped and rolled all the way back down, getting battered by every tree and rock on the way.

He allowed himself a minute to rest after the ordeal, just staring up at the fairy-light strung ceiling and catching his breath. The more he rested though, the more adrenaline faded, and the more pain pulsed through him. He noted it was mostly from his face, neck, stomach, and legs. The blow to his stomach had settled a little, leaving him more nauseous than anything. His head must have gotten hit quite hard too, he realized, because the lights on his ceiling were swirling and he was filled with airy vertigo, and while it all looked beautiful to him, he supposed it was rather concerning. 

Enough waiting, he decided. “Okay,” He whispered again, a reassurance or perhaps a motivator, and then he forced himself to sit upright, his body whining the whole way.

He slumped forward towards the mirror with lights surrounding it-- just as if it were in a broadway dressing room, wiped his tears away (finding he really couldn’t open his injured eye at all; it felt puffy and swollen shut), and focused on his image being reflected back to him.

It was so much worse than he’d thought. His attention was first brought to his swelling eye. There was a ring of pink forming on and below the lower lid, and Roman had been in enough fights to know that he would be waking up the next morning to the beginnings of a black eye. A great start. 

Looking to his nose, he realized where the taste of blood was coming from. Streams of blood from both nostrils were trickling down, pooling in his cupid’s bow, and slowly drizzling down over his lips like a splash of liquid lipstick, left to dry on his chin. Subconsciously, now that he was focusing on it, his tongue darted out of his mouth to catch some of the blood before it could drip even farther. He’d never minded the taste of blood, but considering that this had dripped from his nose he found it a little gross in his afterthought. Then he wondered if this had been the crack he’d heard- one of his nose breaking. He’d have to set it; he absolutely could _not_ let a crooked nose ruin his complexion.

The bridge of his nose hadn’t remained unscathed either- a cut trailing horizontally over it. He didn’t even know how he’d managed that one, but alright, why not.

Gratefully he noted that, while it was pink in several places- clearly also set to bruise- his right cheek had taken most of the blow and not his eye. He didn’t know what he would do if he’d been completely blinded, even if it wasn’t permanent. 

He thought that was about it until he noticed the discoloring on his neck. He pulled down his collar and stared at the bruise forming on his throat. This injury sat with him worst of all. It looked as if he’d been choked; hands wrapped around his neck and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe, until he was gasping and his head was left empty and all he felt was was the squeeze, the constriction, a snake coiled around him and whispering in his ear, its voice honey sweet as his head grew light, telling him it was okay to sleep and that he’d wake up soon just fine, and Roman believed every word and let himself slip away, and when he blinked and looked in the mirror again he saw nothing but green- his sash, his blood, his _eyes._

Vomiting. He was going to vomit. Keeling forward and scrambling, he flailed for the wastebasket he knew was right by the leg of the table, and once he found it he yanked it forward and caved in over it as bile rose up in his throat. He squeezed his eye shut and whimpered pathetically into it, hoping it would hold the noise and hide it from the world as the waves of nausea rolled through him.

“Come _on_ , just do it. Out with it,” He grunted impatiently, which would be quite funny on any other day to Roman, because it wasn’t like his stomach could respond to him, but after the day he’d just had it just seemed idiotic of him to say. Though, Roman _was_ probably an idiot despite his vehement denial when accused of such. It stung to admit, but he was wrong that day, apparently. It didn’t make sense to him still.

Probably because he was an idiot.

The admission felt like another punch to his gut, which _finally_ was enough of a push for him to bury his face further into the trashcan and puke up his dessert. His throat burned, and he realized that, like a cherry on top of it all, it tasted of both acid and wedding cake.

He straightened up a little bit, feeling a little bit better in all honesty, and set the wastebasket down as the stench began to waft into the room. Had he been in the imagination, he would’ve been able to make the trash and vomit disappear altogether and fix the issue right there, but unfortunately he didn’t have that liberty at the moment. He nudged the trashcan under the table with a foot as to not have to look at it and reminded himself to deal with it later.

Focusing back on his face, he took in the sight of himself again and shoved down the sense of self pity that wanted to well up. Worst of all, this was only his face and neck-- he didn’t even _know_ what state the rest of his body was in. Looking down, though, his clothes didn’t appear bloodstained, so he supposed that was a good enough sign. What he needed at that moment was some wipes and perhaps a bandage. Preferably a few ice packs too. And a toothbrush to rid his mouth of the literal sour taste he’d just brought back up. Perhaps an ice pop to suck on would make the burn of his lips feel better. And a softer robe. And his bed to rest his aching body. And another watchthrough of Moana to distract himself.

But that was all selfish of him to think. And selfishness was evil.

At least, he’d thought it was. Wasn’t it supposed to be good now? Did that mean selflessness was evil? Which was it? If Roman had swayed between the two in the past and present, what did that make him?

The evil twin? Or had that been a lie?

The nod.

Roman blinked, staring at his cracked complexion, and then promptly burst into tears.

He didn’t try to hold back his pathetic wailing, though he was absolutely mortified by it, as he collapsed forward and buried his face in his arms. The pain all over his body seemed to double, but Roman couldn’t find it in himself to care. He didn’t deserve to care, and besides, he was starting to go a bit numb. That was probably a bad sign, but not one Roman wanted to deal with as he trembled and sobbed weakly.

It was just him sitting like that for a little while, until he heard a quiet little knock through the sound of his cries, and a meek voice asking, “Roman?”

It was Patton. Roman could tell. He was probably here with empty reassurances. Or perhaps it was Deceit disguised as Patton here to rub it in more. Either way, a flame of anger sparked in him and he rose up. When Roman had left, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted to be alone. He didn’t need any _pity,_ since that’s what Patton seemed to be so fond of. His voice horribly scratchy, he yelled, “Go _away!_ ”

There was a long pause; Patton had likely recoiled from the harsh tone; he hated being yelled at. Roman felt a twinge of guilt but his fury outweighed it. If Patton was hurt, then _good._ He deserved it. How many years had he been leading Roman astray only to turn on him?

“... Roman,” Patton began again, “You left in a rush, I was worried-”

“I don’t need your pity,” Roman gritted out. He found that yelling seemed to ease his aching a bit, as if he was shifting his actual pain onto someone else and lightening his own burden.

Another pause. Patton sighed, “I just want to check on you, I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute. But I… I can’t leave you alone here feeling hurt.”

Oh, if only he knew. Roman laughed bitterly, tasting blood along with the bile on his tongue. “A bit too late for that,” He sniffled out, wiping away the blood from his nosebleed and smearing it on his cheek and sleeve. “Why, is it gonna weigh on your conscience or something? Turning back around to try and help others again? How’s that gonna help Thomas, huh? That’ll just piss _Janus_ off or whatever. You don’t want that, right? You and him are just best friends now, right?”

Roman was glad there was a door separating them. His tears had decided to double.

“... You’re a part of Thomas,” Patton began slowly, “By helping you, I’m helping him. And I think Janus would agree.”

“Because that’s supposed to convince me,” Roman laughed bitterly again, though it turned into a sob halfway through.

That must’ve just made Patton even more concerned. His voice was filled with worry. “I know why you’re mad at me. It’s- it’s okay, I’m mad at me too-”

“For a different reason!”

“... Maybe. But… but old habits die hard so _please_ just let me help you right now. I know you don’t want to see me, but _please_ just tell me what I can do to help make it up to you right now.”

"You can go away, that's what you can do!"

Patton went very quiet for a very long time. Roman let out a sigh, figuring he’d won and Patton had left, until very quietly Patton piped up, “... Would a hero walk away if his friend was hurt?”

Roman looked up in surprise and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again. The words settled in, and a wave of guilt and pain seemed to fall onto Roman’s shoulders and he collapsed forward against the vanity with a loud cry as he was crushed and pain swarmed through him. Because heroes didn’t yell at their friends and curse them and wish pain upon them, but then again, Roman wasn’t a hero.

It hurt more than anything he’d felt that day and he was holding back near screams as he writhed where he sat. Between sobs and hisses and cries of pain he heard Patton shout, “Roman!?” in alarm. He tried to respond with a reassurance, but all he could manage was a whimper.

“Oh, gee, um, okay-- I know you don’t want me to come in but I’m really scared--”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Roman managed through his pain, because no matter how much he hurt and no matter how much he doubted his ability to truly deal with it all on his own, Patton _could not_ know. It could break him.

But the doorknob jiggled and he heard the door swing open and, oh God, he hadn’t locked it, and it slammed closed and footsteps rushed towards him, Patton’s voice much closer and less muffled. “Roman? Are you okay?”

He hid his face so Patton couldn’t see, but it only worked for a moment as Patton rested a hand on his shoulder, gently pushed him up, and Roman’s face was turned to reveal to him. He couldn’t truly see what Patton looked like much more than a teary blob, but his figure recoiled back with a gasp. “Oh, gosh-- oh my gosh-- what--”

“I’m okay,” Roman sobbed out desperately, “ _please_.”

He was pretty sure Patton was covering his mouth with a hand, and he could just about imagine how wide his eyes were. Patton was babbling, “What happened!? What’s wrong!? Oh my gosh, you’re bleeding--”  
  
Like Roman didn’t know. He shook his head and for some reason that tiny action took a world of effort. “Don’t worry… I can deal with it…”

Some tears spilled and his vision cleared enough in his one eye for him to see Patton’s pale, horrified expression morph into one of confusion, then determination. His brow knit into a furrow and he took a shaky breath. “No… no-- what do you need? What do I do?”

Roman blinked in confusion, because why would Patton want to deal with such a mess? “Nothing, I'm fine,” he tried.

But Patton was set in motion. “Let’s… okay… let’s--” He looked around, expression strangely sternly focused. “Let’s move you somewhere better.”

Roman was about to explain that he doubted he was capable of mobility at that moment, but then Patton pulled out his chair and leaned down. He braced one arm behind Roman’s back and looped the other beneath his legs and carefully pulled him out and up. Roman was so shocked that he let out a little gasp. He hadn’t been expecting Patton to be so strong-- though looking back, his hugs could get a little crushing at times so he supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Nevertheless, Roman was aware of being held against Patton’s chest as he was carried across the room. Patton was gentle and warm, and Roman only had the sense to not rest his aching head against his chest out of pure concern for getting blood on his clothes.

He was set down on a feather filled mattress and comforter which he recognized immediately as his bed. He sunk into the cool, soft surface and let out an audible cry of relief of how nice and _gentle_ it felt against his bruised body.

Patton hovered above him. “Do, um, do you have a first aid kit or anything around here?”

Roman cleared his dry throat and managed to get out, “In the bathroom, inside the mirror. It opens.” He prayed that was enough of a description, because it was all he could manage at that moment.

Patton nodded and vanished from sight. Beyond the canopy of his bed, Roman could once again see the twinkling lights strung across his ceiling. They looked warm and almost as if they were dancing. He wished he could reach out and touch them.

Patton returned quickly, and Roman heard him working with packaging and metal, and then a soft, cold washcloth was pressed against his burning nose. He let out a whimper of pure relief as the burn was tamed and the blood wiped from his nose and lip and cheek. Then Patton pinched Roman’s nose, still with the washcloth, so his nostrils were forced closed and he had to breathe through his mouth. For a moment he was confused, and was about to ask, but then he realized that Patton was trying to make the blood clot so the bleeding would stop. It was a very smart thing of him to do, and Roman was admittedly impressed.

But then he remembered, and he said, “It’s broken.” His voice came out nasally and he half expected Patton to laugh at how silly that was, but he seemed a bit too concerned for jokes at the moment. In fact, when Patton looked up to meet Roman’s eyes, his face was set in tired lines. “What?”

“My nose is broken,” Roman sighed, catching a whiff of his own breath and nearly getting nauseous again, “It needs to be set.”

“What? Like…?” Patton made a motion that might’ve looked like cranking a doorknob very hard.

“Mmhm.”

“... Oh…” Patton’s frown deepened, “... Won’t that hurt?”

“Mmhm.”

Patton took the washcloth away from Roman’s nose and pulled his hands close to his chest. “But… I don’t wanna hurt you…”

“I’m gonna do it,” Roman insisted quickly, as had never intended to make Patton do it anyways.

Patton seemed unsure and his eyes darted to the side. “Are you sure?”

“Mmhm,” Roman assured, bringing his hands shakily up to his nose, “I’ve done it tons before.”

This only made Patton seem more concerned, and Roman realized that might’ve not been the best thing to say. But it was too late to take it back. Oh well.

He took a deep breath and braced his arms-- he figured if he’d practically crawled across his room using his arms alone, he could yank his nose back into place-- and closed his eyes to brace himself.

“Oh!” Patton gasped quickly, realizing Roman was serious, and quickly turned away so he wouldn’t have to see. Probably a good idea.

Roman counted himself down from five, then sharply yanked his nose to the right. There was another _crack,_ and painful flames shot up Roman’s nose and face and he let out a shout as blood coated his fingers. When he opened his eyes, Patton was curled into himself.

“It’s done,” Roman coughed out with a weak smile, “See? Easy. Does it look okay?”  
  
Slowly Patton turned around to peek at him and he paled again. “Uh…”

Roman sighed and let his eyes fall closed again. “Nevermind. Thanks for your help, I can take it from here.”

Patton immediately straightened up with an indigent, “What!? No way! I gotta help you, you’re hurt…”

“I can take care of it myself,” Roman promised, sniffling back some blood.

Patton seemed conflicted by his desire to help and Roman’s orders. After a moment he sighed and brought the cold washcloth back to wipe at the new blood trickling from Roman’s nose. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave you here. Even if you hate me-- well, you probably do already--”

Roman had been mad, sure, but _hate_ Patton? After everything Patton had done for him over the years? Given, of course, they’d supposedly both been a bit misguided, but Patton was one of Roman’s most constant supports and supporters, always willing to congratulate or praise his work. Always there to help. He was even helping him now, even though he wasn't obligated to. Roman's expression softened a little. “... I could never.”

Patton looked up to him in surprise, and for a moment just stared. But then his expression softened, and as Roman looked at his glasses he saw the pretty golden lights bouncing and reflected there, and just beyond that, Patton’s eyes were pooling with relieved tears. He paused in his motions to brush some of Roman’s locks away from his forehead with a gentle, cool hand, and then his face was looming closer and he was pressing his cheek to Roman’s feverish forehead and Roman _cried_ out from the pure care that was being shown to him.

“I’m _always_ here for you Roman, okay? I love you.” Patton’s voice was shaky, but honest, and Roman sobbed out again.

It was overwhelming that even after yelling and storming out earlier, he was even being given this chance. Roman was filled with a mix of guilt and relief, because he didn’t deserve it, and everything hurt so _bad_ but Patton was there for him, and in a moment of pure, overwhelmed desperation he gave in and pleaded, “ _Please_ help me.”

They were words Roman had just about vowed to never utter aloud, because he was always so sure that he could handle things himself and that letting anyone in to experience such a vulnerable part of him would be absolutely humiliating. Exploitable. But at that moment he was so exhausted, and Patton was right there asking to help him, and not moving and letting someone else do the work felt so _good_ that he had to beg for it.  
  
Immediately Patton straightened up and wiped his eyes under his glasses. “Of course, honey, of course...” he promised. He took a shaky breath, fixed his glasses so they were straight, and his expression set back into concentration. It was such an unfamiliar look on Patton, though Roman supposed he should know better than to think Patton was always smiles.

Patton wiped the blood from his nose again and then pinched it to make it clot. He simply held it like that for a few minutes, completely and unusually silent, but he did start to stroke Roman’s hair while they waited, which Roman very much appreciated. By the time he let go, the blood hadn’t stopped, but it had slowed considerably.

Then he quickly wiped at the cut on the bridge of Roman’s nose, mumbling, “This one isn’t so bad,” under his breath. As he rummaged through the first aid kit he wrinkled his nose and said, “Smells in here…”

“I threw up,” Roman croaked out, and Patton stiffened up in a panic all over again.

“Huh!?”

Roman raised a weak hand and pointed at the wastebasket hidden under the vanity.

Patton frowned again and furiously blinked, apparently trying to hold back more tears. “That’s-- okay. That’s okay,” He assured, “I’ll get that in a minute.”

“Sorry,” Roman apologized instantly, because nobody but himself deserved to deal with something so gross and lowly.

“Don’t apologize,” Patton said, his tone surprisingly stern. Roman let his mouth fall closed and his hand dropped.

Patton came back with a cotton ball doused in alcohol which he brought to clean at the cut. It stung just a bit, but it truly didn’t matter compared to the rest of the pain Roman was feeling. He remembered once again with growing discomfort that this was only his _face_. Neither he or Patton had checked on the rest of his body. It could wait.

Once he’d decided it was cleaned enough, Patton unwrapped a bandaid (which was rather small-- perhaps it really wasn’t that bad of a cut) and applied it. Then he stood up with a sigh. “I’m gonna clean up and get you an ice pack, okay?”

He didn’t wait for Roman to answer. He walked over to the wastebasket, tied up the bag, and vanished for a second before reappearing with a couple ice packs under his arm, a glass of water, and his other hand cupping something.

“Got some painkillers,” Patton explained when he sat on the edge of Roman’s bed again, opening his hand to reveal 2 ibuprofen. _Painkillers_ , Roman nearly cried out again, unsure how to find his voice to convey the level of give-it-here- _now_ he felt. “Don’t know how effective they’ll be, but they’re something!” Patton’s smile was so sorry and reassuring all at once when he said that, it almost made Roman feel alright for a moment. “Can you…?”

“Mmhm.” Roman reached forward and Patton handed the pills and water to him. He popped them in his mouth one after the other and swallowed them with the water. Then he took another mouthful of water and swished it in his mouth in an attempt to get rid of the acrid taste on his tongue. It wasn’t Crest, but it helped a little. Finally he downed the rest of the glass and keened at how nice and cold it was in his burning throat. 

Patton took the cup from him and set it on Roman’s bedside table. He wiped down his face one more time, then pressed the bigger ice pack to Roman’s swollen eye. “You bruise like an apple…” he mumbled, bringing the other one up to his right cheek.

Roman was well aware. It was one of his least favorite things about himself.

The pressure from the ice packs stung, but they were soothing against his throbbing skin. Admittedly, as Patton had taken the reigns to help him, the ache in Roman’s body had dulled, and that was even before the painkillers had set in. Perhaps it had been a good idea to let him help after all.

“So…” Patton spoke up after a while of sitting in reflective silence. “That… happened?”

Right. This was a conversation they needed to have. Roman sighed, finding it much easier to talk thanks to the water, “It just happens sometimes.”

Patton looked at him, and Roman’s chest ached not from a bruise, but from the look of pure worry written on Patton’s face. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but he was powerless against Patton. Besides, out of all the sides, Patton had always been the one Roman could find he trusted most.

“When…” He sighed and chuckled sourly, because it was such a stupid thing, “When… Thomas’, or, well, _my_ pride is hurt… it hurts me. Whenever I lose a sense of… ‘self confidence,’ I suppose, Thomas’... my…” Roman glanced away, “ego is bruised. Quite literally.”

Patton’s brow furrowed for a minute as he mulled this over, then his eyes widened as he realized. “So… today… when we…”

Roman’s gaze fell from Patton’s eyes, pooling with guilt, to the dangling sleeves of his hoodie, where the cat paws were embroidered. “... Yes.”

Patton let out a small sob and it made Roman ache. “Oh, Ro, I had no idea--”

“It’s not your fault,” Roman blurted out. Though minutes ago he had been convinced it was. Perhaps he still did. But at that moment he was willing to say anything to make Patton feel better.

“I wish I’d gotten here sooner,” Patton continued, and Roman couldn’t bear to look at his face because the waver in his voice told that he was definitely crying, “I wish you’d _told_ us sooner. How many times… is it always this bad?”

Roman tried to answer with, “ _Not often, and yes, absolutely. This is nothing._ ” But perhaps Deceit had gone to bed for the night, because Roman’s lips didn’t open and no lie came out. Truthfully, he was tired of keeping it a secret anyways.

Patton deducted the answers from the silence. “Roman, oh, honey,” He said, entirely too compassionate, “I’m sorry…”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Roman repeated.

Patton sniffled and brought up an arm, apparently to wipe his tears away. Roman forced himself to meet Patton’s eyes again, and the sight of him in so much distress made Roman want to bleed all over again. 

Patton shook his head and took a deep, resolute breath, seeming to collect himself. “Well…” He sighed after a moment, “There’s nothing to do about it now. But… the next time this happens, you have to _promise_ me you’ll call or summon me, or-- or any of the others to help you, okay?”

Roman didn’t want to promise to seek for help with something he could deal with himself, but he realized Patton knew anyways and there was no taking it back. Besides, it had been so nice to have someone care for him for once rather than having to do it himself. Nicer than he wanted to admit.

“Only if you promise to keep this a secret between you and me right now,” Roman requested.

He knew Patton _hated_ keeping secrets, and was quite terrible at doing so, too. But Virgil and him had never gotten along, and Logan was untrustworthy after siding with Deceit that day, and there was _no_ way Roman was letting _any_ dark side near him.

He was half expecting Patton to reject the idea, but Patton must have sensed how serious Roman was because he nodded and held out a pinky. “I promise. Pinky promise.”

Roman chuckled, weak, but genuine, and linked their fingers. “Me too.”

Patton cracked a small smile at that, breaking the hold only to grab and squeeze Roman’s hand. “I’m kinda scared to hug you right now, ‘cause I don’t wanna hurt you, but once you’re better you better believe you’re gonna get it.”

Another laugh bubbled out of Roman, a little louder, and it hurt his lungs a little, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I’ll hold you to that.”

They went fairly quiet after that. Patton maneuvered around so that Roman’s head was resting in his lap-- Roman wasn’t sure when that had happened; he felt a little out of it. Occasionally Patton would readjust the ice packs covering Roman’s face or wipe a bit more blood off with the cloth again, but for the most part he just held onto Roman’s hand and combed his hands through Roman’s hair in a soothing motion.

Dimly, Roman wanted to ask if he had anywhere better to be, but he feared Patton would leave if he asked such a thing, and at that moment he _really_ didn't want him to leave. The swirling lights on his ceiling distracted him from any questions he might’ve had until he got too dizzy and closed his eyes.

In the aftermath of it all, he felt exhausted, and fell asleep quickly. In the morning there would be plenty of pestering from Patton about checking his wounds, and likely much more conversation about what had happened with Deceit and Thomas that night. But in that moment there was just simple quiet, the pain slowly draining away into comforting silence, and the feeling of the gentle hand in Roman's hair.


End file.
